by Jeff Sampson
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah…”
Spencer, scratching his arm, looked between the two of us. “I think I must have gotten left out of some conversation you guys had.”
“It’s nothing, Spencer,” I said. I shifted my backpack on my shoulders, then smiled at him. “Dalton was just asking me some questions about the changes.”
“Oh,” he said. “All righty.”
I locked onto Spencer’s face. The shaggy hair spilling over his forehead, his wide smile. I felt myself drawn to him, an insect to an electric lamp. The confrontation with Megan had left me on edge, and I didn’t know what to think about Dalton’s behavior. And now I kept seeing the wolf-girl in her bed, picturing her as Tracie, perfect Tracie scared and chaining herself up to keep at bay a change she didn’t understand.
I could lean in close and let Spencer dull me down. But something inside me felt revolted by the idea.
Don’t do it, Nighttime commanded. Keep your senses. You don’t need to rely on him.
Swallowing, I tilted my head toward the school doors. “Well, the second bell is going to ring any time now. We should get to class.”
The three of us walked together, though I made sure to position Dalton between me and Spencer as subtly as I could. Why would Nighttime be so adamant that I not take my one relief of the day? I mean, I’d been considering the effects of the pheromones for days; of course I knew that this attraction might not have been real at all.
And that was it, then. If it was something hard-coded into me by BioZenith, why trust it? Already the killer had tried to lure me to him using the scent. And if my brain was all mellowed, would I still have the drive to discover all there was to know about why I was made a werewolf? Could this have been their way of placating us into compliance for whatever they wanted to do to us now that we’d changed?
But if it wasn’t for these insane wolf smells clinging to our minds, I never would have found Spencer or Dalton, they never would have found Tracie. We’d all still be alone, thinking that our brains had snapped, that we were slowly going insane. Instead, we were slowly forming a pack.
Like everything else about my life, I couldn’t figure out the good from the bad anymore.
We entered the mostly empty front hallway, me taking a lot of short, shallow breaths, forcing myself not to get too close to Spencer. I couldn’t avoid him forever. I didn’t want to, I mean, who would? But right then I felt I needed some space to just be me and try to figure some things out.
“Erm, Emily, is it?”
I stopped, and Dalton and Spencer did the same. We all turned to see a small, slender man peeking out of the front office. His suit—tweed that day—was at least a size too large for him, and no matter how he combed his hair, nothing could hide the growing bald spot. He peered at me through wire-frame glasses.
“Uh, hi,” I said. “Mr. Savage, right?”
I’d met him on Monday morning, very briefly. I didn’t really know who he was except that he knew I’d been one of the people who “found” Dr. Elliot’s body in Spencer’s backyard. A counselor brought in to talk me through my feelings or whatever.
“That’s right,” he said. “You never came to see me after school on Monday. To talk about what you’ve been through.”
I jacked a thumb over my shoulder. “Well, I have class now, so…”
Mr. Savage waved a hand. “No worries. I can write a note for your teachers. Though your friends should probably get on their way.”
“Yeah,” Spencer said. To me, he whispered, “I had to talk to him too. Don’t worry, he’s not so bad.” And then he and Dalton walked off down the hall, their sneakers echoing on the linoleum.
“So…” I said, turning back to Mr. Savage. “Do we talk out here or … ?”
His smile was strangely unnerving. “No, come on in. Have a seat.”
I followed him into the front office. We walked past the secretaries at their desks, filing paperwork and tapping at computers. Then I was ushered into a small office with room enough for a desk, one chair on his side, and one on mine. We both took a seat.
“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” he said, still smiling at me. I realized my face must have looked incredibly guilty. Because I felt incredibly guilty. With all that had happened the last few nights, the visions of dead Dr. Elliott when I closed my eyes had been replaced with worries more immediate. But they were still there. I would never forget that night.
Suddenly I wished I hadn’t abstained from partaking of Spencer’s pheromones.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve never been in the office before. It’s where the bad kids are marched off to, so I always imagined, like, torture equipment and jail cells or something.”
Mr. Savage laughed, then took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth from his pocket. I watched and waited as he put the glasses back on.
“First I must ask how you’re coping with what you saw Monday morning,” he said. “I can imagine seeing the aftermath of an animal attack wasn’t, ah, pleasant.”
A torn-open neck. Too pale skin. A crow, bobbing its head into the wounds. Glassy, unfocused eyes. The stench of too much blood.
I shuddered and closed my eyes. I took in a steeling breath, forcing myself to think of puppies and unicorns frolicking through sugar-cookie flowers and candy grass.
“No,” I said. “Not exactly pleasant.”
“Do you want to talk about how it felt?”
I opened my eyes and saw him leaning forward on the desk, studying me intently. I didn’t, in fact, want to tell him anything. I didn’t know him. It felt too personal.
“I can’t really put it into words,” I said. “But I only saw him, the body I mean, for a few seconds. We went to call the police as soon as we realized what it was.”
“Do you remember hearing anything during the night?” he asked me. “The wounds suggest he was attacked by rather large dogs or wolves. I would imagine that would be a bit noisy, what with all the commotion.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Interesting.” He picked up a pen and jotted a few notes down on a piece of paper. I tried to see what he was writing, but the words would have been illegible even if they weren’t upside down. Someone didn’t ace penmanship.
Without looking up, he continued, “Your new friend out there, the tall one with the red hair. He’s Dalton McKinney, yes? The boy who was shot by the man who also killed Emily Cooke?”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s him.”
“I was led to believe you were only friends with one other girl here.” He looked up at me. “Have you been friendly with Dalton long?”
Now, I’d never been to a counselor before, but this was definitely starting to feel more like an interrogation than any sort of touchy-feely-cry-about-your-problems session. Either he was really bad at his job, or something was up here. My first thought was, The police are on to me, and I could feel the panic rising in my chest. I gripped the armrest of my chair, forcing myself to stay calm.
“Dalton and I just have a class project together,” I lied. “We’re not really friends.”
“Ah.” Back to the paper he went, his thin hands dashing out loops and lines that I was almost positive had to be in some made-up alphabet. Seriously, could he even read that?
His notes written down, he smiled back up at me. “I think that’s all I need for now, Emily. You can get a pass from one of the secretaries. And remember, if you do decide you want to talk about any of this, I’m here.”
“All right,” I said. “Thanks.”
Flinging my backpack over my shoulder, I fled the small office. The panic I’d managed to keep down started to rise as I went to the nearest secretary, who started to fill out a form for me. My leg shook, my breath began to get ragged. Was this guy not a counselor at all? Was he with the police? Did they now suspect it wasn’t dogs at all, but people?
How could they? The attack was clearly animal in origin. Jared, the police deputy I’d called to tel
l about the dead man in Spencer’s backyard, had confirmed that. He’d been there with an officer on Monday afternoon to ask some questions that lasted all of ten minutes. All that horrible business was done with now, except for in my dreams. There was no way anyone suspected me and Spencer were killers. No way. I needed to relax.
Maybe I could find Spencer. Lean into him, let him envelope me, take away this new layer of stress.
No.
I took the pass from the secretary, offering a smile I didn’t feel, then headed into the hall. Deep breaths, I told myself. Chill out. This is not an issue. You’re the alpha, remember? There are more important things to focus on: Shadowmen. BioZenith. Spencer. Dalton. And—
I rounded the corner of the office and almost collided with someone about to walk in. She took a step back, as startled as I was.
“Whoa, there! Almost had us a fender bender.”
The speaker was Tracie. Dressed in a blue blouse and tan slacks. Yes, slacks. As I gawked at her, she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but could you please move out of the doorway?” she asked me. “I have to drop these off.” She held up a stack of papers, sign-up sheets for some club.
I couldn’t move. I looked her up and down. There wasn’t a wrinkle on her clothes, a crease of worry on her brow. Whatever werewolf musk she had, I couldn’t smell it for some reason. I could, however, distinctly smell some sort of flowery perfume.
She blinked at me. “Well?”
I stepped to the side, unable to figure out what to say. She gave me an obligatory smile, then brushed past me.
I spun around. “Tracie, wait.”
With a sigh, she turned back toward me. “Yes?”
I swallowed. I really hoped Tracie was the last werewolf, because this part—the accusation of being a mythical beast—was kind of awkward.
Figuring it was best to just rip off the Band-Aid, I leaned in close to her and whispered, “Tracie, I know what you are.”
Her entire body went stiff. Paper crunched as her fingers tightened. Her eyes went wide. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “Know what now?”
Raising my hands, I stepped closer to her. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “It’s okay. I’m one too. So are Spencer Holt and Dalton McKinney. We’ve been looking for you all week.” I met her eyes, and I couldn’t keep myself from grinning. Find your fellows, some voice inside had told me. Gather them. And here she was, one more member of my pack. Of my family. I didn’t know her at all, had never spoken to her before that moment in the hallway, but looking into her brown eyes I felt like I was seeing myself, another side of me that I never knew had been missing until just this moment. My chest ached.
She apparently wasn’t having the same experience. “What, exactly, do you think I am?” she asked.
I grabbed her gently by the arm and pulled her away from the office door and prying ears. I did not take my eyes off hers.
When we were far enough away that I could be sure that no one, especially Mr. Savage, was listening in, I took a breath. And I said the word, my voice hushed. “Werewolf.”
The word seemed to echo down the empty corridor. For a moment, Tracie stood rigid, stone faced. And then her lip began to tremble.
“This isn’t happening,” she said, her eyes darting away from mine. “No, this is certainly not happening to me right now.”
She tried to walk past me, but I stepped in front of her and held up my hands to stop her. “No, Tracie, listen to me. This is real. You haven’t been going crazy. I’ve been exactly where you are right now. But you don’t have to go through this alone. Me and Spencer and Dalton, we’re figuring out why all this is happening.”
Shaking her head, Tracie backed away from me. “Leave me alone, please,” she said. “Just leave me alone.” With that, she spun on her heel and walked straight out the front door of the school, still clenching the papers in her hand.
I raced after her, shoving through the glass door, my backpack smacking against my shoulders as I raced to catch up. Tracie sped down the walkway, her eyes straight ahead.
“Where are you going?” I asked as I came to walk next to her.
She didn’t look at me. “Home.”
“What about your stuff?” I asked, keeping pace with her. “Your bag, your backpack, your coat?”
Stopping, she finally turned to face me. “I asked you to leave me alone.”
I shook my head at her. “I can’t, Tracie. You’re one of us. Emily Cooke was, too. She died because there are people out there who want to hurt us. I can’t just leave you alone.”
Tracie closed her eyes and took in a calming breath. “Emily, is it?” she said as she opened her eyes. “I am fairly certain that I am very, very sick, and that this right here is another hallucination. If not, I don’t know how you found out that I’m not well, but I absolutely do not appreciate you mocking me like this.”
I grabbed her forearm. “I’m not, I promise.” She yanked her arm away but didn’t move to walk any farther. “Listen, it all started with changes at night. You started to have some crazy personality shift, right? Then you turned into a full-on wolf? And sometimes you see shadows that move like men?”
“The bogey,” she whispered.
“It’s not a bogeyman, Tracie, not exactly,” I continued. “But I promise you that this is all real. I just… I get so overwhelmed sometimes, and that’s even with two people to talk to. I know it has to be harder for you.”
Her eyes went distant. She crossed her arms, pursed her lips. For a moment, we stood there in silence, the wind whipping at our clothes.
“I need to go back to class,” she finally said.
“All right,” I said. “But Tracie, please come to the party at Dalton’s house tonight, okay? Talk with us. We’re going to be following up on some information we found out about what’s going on.”
She didn’t answer. In the back of my head, another voice piped up. Nighttime, telling me what to say to convince her to come. Tell her it wouldn’t look good if the class president bailed on the welcome home celebration of one of the school’s football stars.
“Plus, it wouldn’t look good if the class president bailed on the welcome home celebration of one of the school’s football stars.”
Her eyes sparked at that, shot to meet mine. Then, she turned and walked back toward the school. I watched her go, hoping I’d managed to convince her.
All I could do now was let Spencer and Dalton know I’d spoken to her, and hope that it was enough to lead another member of my pack home.
14
YOU’RE SO BRAZEN THESE DAYS
The last time I’d been to a party, I hadn’t quite been me.
It was the week before, right after I started changing into Nighttime. And she’d dressed to the nines, flirted with boys, and got awkwardly drunk.
So yeah, this time? I intended to keep a low profile.
I kept it simple: jeans, the freshly rewashed black turtleneck, hair down. I kept the glasses on, of course. Nighttime’s full hi-def plasma-screen vision still hadn’t yet seeped over to the day.
I wasn’t exactly the picture of a girl ready to party. But I had a mission.
Spencer picked me up in the early evening, and by six we were in front of Dalton’s house. Earlier than usual for a party, but apparently the cheerleaders intended the celebration to start in the afternoon and last all night. By the time we got there the streets were lined with cars, the driveway packed with smaller vehicles awkwardly sitting way too close side by side. I was guessing those people weren’t planning to leave for a while.
There was no sign of Dalton’s parents’ cars. That was a relief.
Kids streamed over the lawn and hung out on the porch, laughing and shouting and generally having a good time. A stark contrast to the last party, which had been a wake for Emily Cooke. It was actually a relief to see. I’m not sure with all that I was trying to focus on at once that I could deal with another super-somber soiree.
Spencer parallel parked his minivan while I leaned back in my seat, scanning the yard for any sign of Tracie or Dalton. I didn’t see either—but I did see Megan, all spindly limbs and white-blond hair, leaning against the front wall of the house, scowling at the mirth around her.
“She actually came,” I said. My pulse began to race, and I realized I was worried about running into her. My best friend, of all people. I guess with the way I’d been acting around her, I couldn’t blame her. But after the intensity that was our car ride to school, I wasn’t sure I could face her. I still couldn’t give her the answers she so desperately wanted from me. Who knew if I ever could.
“Who?” Spencer asked me. His head darted between various rearview mirrors, and his tongue stuck out between his teeth as he edged his mom’s car into a way-too-narrow spot between two other cars.
“Megan,” I told him. “We had a fight this morning because she knows I’m keeping a secret, and I can’t exactly blurt out that I’m a werewolf.” I huffed out a sigh and stared up at the roof of the car. “Is it just me, or has the past week been totally stressful?”
“Not just you.”
And then I felt the warmth of his body nearing me, his arm wrapping around my torso. I opened my mouth to protest, but I couldn’t keep his pheromones from digging into me, scrubbing my brain of fear and worry and urgency. I couldn’t keep away any longer—I leaned into him and hugged him back.
“I think we’re gonna get somewhere tonight,” he said, his voice muffled by my hair. “Dalton’s dad definitely knows something.”
“Mm,” I mumbled, my eyes closed. It seemed like forever since I’d felt so calm, and I didn’t want to let go. Screw breaking into offices and werewolves and shadowmen. I just wanted to stay in that car forever, never let go of Spencer, never go back to the real world.
No, a distant voice in my head said. Do not give in. Get to work. Focus.
“I don’t want to,” I said aloud.
Spencer pulled away from me, brow furrowed. “Don’t want to what?”
His scent lingered, but with him not so close, my brain began to re-form the thoughts I’d had only moments before. Right. We had a mission.